


Standing on the Edge

by Clouds_In_My_Coffee



Series: What Is Lost Can Be Found (It's Obvious) [1]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Boys are alive, F/M, Flynn's Birthday Party, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Mild Language, Running from the past, Sunset Curve, Tripping on the Now, communication is key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clouds_In_My_Coffee/pseuds/Clouds_In_My_Coffee
Summary: These moments between Julie and Luke were growing more and more frequent as of late. The silences that weren’t so much uncomfortable as they were charged. It was almost like they were standing on either side of a door, holding the same knob but not managing to twist. At least until their fight five nights ago, anyway.—At Flynn's eighteenth birthday party, Luke and Julie try to deal with their recent fight and their feelings for each other. [Boys Are Alive AU]
Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Series: What Is Lost Can Be Found (It's Obvious) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130210
Comments: 31
Kudos: 283





	Standing on the Edge

Flynn’s eighteenth birthday fell on a Friday in late November. Among her requests for the bash were Jello-O shots, beer pong, pizza rolls and a performance by Sunset Curve—the latter of which was currently blowing up the party.

Julie knew that had to be true because she felt it. From her place at the keyboard, she could tell that the four of them were vibing tonight, perfectly in sync as they headed into the second verse of _Stand Tall_.

The band’s makeshift stage in Flynn’s backyard wasn’t exactly big, something cobbled together by one of Willie’s shop friends, so Julie couldn’t help but feel a little impressed by the number of people who had been drawn to the space by their music. Especially mid-autumn, with the cold air swirling around them.

Just then, Reggie hit his high note in the bridge, which signaled her to do the same. Then they dovetailed into the last verse, circling back to perform it one more time (standard band protocol for finales).

“Thank you,” Luke said into the mic, sweat dripping down his forehead. The audience roared over the final notes. “We’ve been Sunset Curve.”

“Tell your friends,” Reggie added, into his own mic.

As they all worked to extricate themselves from their instruments and a prerecorded playlist for the evening started back up over the loudspeakers, the applause died down and so did the crowd—back into the house for food and alcohol. Julie rushed to switch off her mic so that she could exit the stage as quickly as she had climbed onto it (barely a minute before their set, avoiding the eyes of all three boys as she got herself together).

She still avoided their eyes now, though she peered at Luke from beneath her eyelashes.

He looked as good as ever (she didn’t know why she would have thought otherwise) in his sleeveless white T-shirt and tight black jeans. His tousled hair was free this evening. No beanie. Probably because his favorite orange one was still sitting in her garage, atop the grand piano where he had left it five nights ago.

Not that she was counting.

Luke wasn’t looking at her. But he wasn’t looking at anyone, really. A stark contrast to his usual rock-star persona, which would have had him leaning over the edge of the stage, chatting easily with the two blonde girls who were currently trying to grab his attention.

Instead, he was ignoring them—pretending he didn’t hear their overly loud comments of, “You guys are _so_ _good_ ” and “ _Aw_ , are you done playing already?”

Julie hastened to pack up her keyboard as her breathing hitched. Soon, she would have to get used to this being the norm.

How could everything have gone so wrong?

“He’s not interested in them, y’know,” Alex’s voice said from behind her. Approaching her before she could make her escape. She turned to find him swiping his bangs out of his face and cracking open his pink Hydro Flask.

Julie didn’t answer. She felt like she was under a spotlight. And not the kind she was used to. Not to mention, she was still angry. Angry and hurt and confused. So rather than say anything, she started fiddling with the stand next to her keyboard.

After a few swigs, Alex wiped his mouth with his jean-jacket sleeve and continued. “Look, Jules. I think you should talk to him. Us. All of us, really. But him first.”

Julie gave the drummer a hard look for a moment. Then another. She didn’t know what to say. Maybe _Why didn’t you tell me?_ or _What happens now?_

What she did know was that Alex would eventually feel discomfited enough by her gaze to let it go. 

“I’m…just sayin’,” he added, when she didn’t speak. And true to her prediction, he hopped off the stage and made his way back into the house, mumbling about finding Willie and a bottle of kombucha.

Julie followed not long after. She nodded her thanks to people who praised their performance and her piano-playing, and she smiled at the one freshman girl who complimented the dahlia pendant around her neck.

She made it into the kitchen without much fanfare and swiped a cup before turning to the keg stationed there.

“Julie,” Nick said, sitting on one of the kitchen counters. The sleeves of his letterman jacket were rolled up to his elbows, and he looked surprisingly happy to see her. His blond hair was swept neatly to the side.

“Can I get you one?” He nodded at the solo cup in her hand. She gave an awkward thumbs up and looked away. From where she was standing, she could see Flynn at the center of the dining room, dancing with one of the guys from the baseball team. She looked amazing, in a bright purple jumpsuit that matched the beads threaded through her braids.

Selfishly, Julie kind of wished she could talk to her about what was going on. But now really wasn’t the time.

She had, of course, clued Flynn in somewhat earlier in the week, when Julie had arrived at school looking like someone had smashed her keyboard. However, in the interest of keeping the “Birthday Week Bash” untainted, Julie had given Flynn the Cliff’s Notes version of what was happening.

“Girl,” Flynn had said immediately. “Do you want me to uninvite them to the Bash? ‘Cause I’ll do it.” And Julie’s heart had momentarily swelled in the face of Flynn, who would always, always have her back, even if it meant canceling her party’s headliner.

“Nah,” Julie had said, slamming her locker closed a little too hard. “I’m good.”

Back in the kitchen, Nick looked at Julie like he wanted to say something else. He handed her the foaming cup of beer and smiled his hundred-watt smile. Before he could start in on a conversation, though, she gave a quick “Thanks” and ducked out of the room—just as Carrie made an appearance in the doorway. _How’s that for timing?_ she thought idly.

Half an hour later found Julie in the living room, sipping her second beer and still gazing out at the party. Some kids were dancing— _Light My Fire_ by The Doors was blasting over the speakers—while others were chatting and drinking. Out on the patio, two lacrosse guys were passing a joint back and forth. And in the outer hallway near the front door, Carrie and Nick were pretending that they weren’t bickering through gritted smiles.

Sometimes, she wondered if their on-again-off-again would ever come to an end. She used to care about that, back in freshman year, when Nick regularly asked to borrow her composition notes. But that had long ago stopped being of interest to her. As had he.

Julie herself was tucked into a corner, pretending to listen to Reggie as he spoke to a semi-circle of their friends about his newest bass—a gift from his dad who lived up in Oregon. What Reggie didn’t talk about was how little his dad visited. Or how he tried to send presents to keep himself in Reggie’s good graces. Years of _Star Wars_ merch had been proof of that.

Every once in a while, she saw his eyes flit toward her with unease, but he said nothing about the week’s developments, instead choosing to continue on with his story.

When she felt the hair on the back of her arms stand up, she knew it could mean only one thing.

Julie turned her face away from the group and encountered Luke’s sleeve of tattoos. Her eyes met ink—the intro baseline to _Another One Bites the Dust_ —wrapped around a muscled bicep. He, too, was leaning against the wall now, gazing out at the party. But when he spoke, it was only to her.

“Light My Fire,” he said. “Band and year.”

Julie took another sip of her drink to hide her surprise. The first conversation they were having in almost a week (if you didn’t count all the unanswered text messages on her phone, which _she didn't_ ), and this was it. He was invoking their game.

The game had been invented three years prior, when Luke had moved from Vancouver to Los Feliz and started classes in Julie’s music program.

After they had watched Nick attempt a particularly ambitious rendition of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ on his electric guitar, Luke had leaned forward in his chair.

“This is a train wreck,” he had whispered in her ear, making her flush all over. “And not the good kind.” One of his hands was wrapped around the arm of her chair, and she noticed—as he flexed his fingers—that they were very nice hands, indeed.

“Is there a good kind of train wreck?” Julie had muttered back, leafing through her music and pretending that the cute new guy wasn’t singling her out.

“Depends,” he had laughed. More hot breath against her ear. Spearmint and a hint of something that she would come to know as _Luke_. “Betcha can’t tell me what year they released it.”

The game soon became more than an easy way to pass the time in Ms. Harrison’s class. Before long, Luke was joining Julie and her friends for lunch. And in the hallway between classes. And after school drinking coffee at The Grind. Despite the fact that she was a freshman and he, a sophomore.

He simply plopped his tray down in the cafeteria one day with a casual “Livin’ On a Prayer?” and never stopped coming back.

She introduced him to Flynn and Reggie. He introduced her to Alex. Willie had come along later—and Nick hung on the periphery of their social circle, always one-foot-in-one-foot-out because of Carrie.

They had started the band that same summer. Alex and Luke had founded it, with spur-of-the-moment jam sessions in Alex’s shed, and when Reggie had offered up his services as a bassist, the three quickly realized how well they worked together.

Julie was something of a one-foot-in-one-foot-out entity herself, but for her, it was with the band. At first, she simply extended the offer for the boys to play at her house instead—in her mom’s unused garage-slash-studio. But then she found herself helping Luke write songs. Which evolved into her accompanying them on the keys. Then performing with them at small gigs. Then taking the stage with them when she was available on weekends. As Sunset Curve’s popularity grew, Julie found herself pitching in more and more.

Her being part of the band wasn’t something that they had talked about explicitly. Or at all, for that matter. But Julie enjoyed being part of the group, so she chose to keep her thoughts to herself—lest she throw off the rhythm that they had so carefully cultivated.

So, yeah. You could say the game was sort of a foundation of their friendship. Or relationship. Or whatever this thing was between them now.

“The Doors,” she said, pulling herself back to the present. “1967.” She thought it was big of her not to stalk away right now, given the swell of emotions stirring just beneath her skin.

Luke let out a long, slow breath. “Too easy, I know. Maybe they’ll throw some Petty in there next.”

Julie didn’t say anything. But she felt Luke turn his head to look at her. He gazed for just a little too long, and she knew why. She was wearing her new dress. A dark red number that she had changed into not long after their set. V-neck and daring, with a pair of black leggings, her combat boots and the gold-plated dahlia necklace he had given her for her birthday.

She tried not to dwell too much on the fact that she had debated putting the damn thing on for more than 20 minutes that evening, ultimately rushing back into her room to snatch it as Kayla honked from the Prius outside. (She had pointedly ignored Willie and Alex’s texts asking if she needed a ride, opting to take Kayla up on her casual offer during AP Art History instead.)

These moments between she and Luke were growing more and more frequent as of late. The silences that weren’t so much uncomfortable as they were charged. Moments where they sat at the piano bench, their legs pressed together without acknowledgement. Or the nights where they both had a little too much to drink and Luke would twist Julie’s hair between his fingertips, grazing her neck every so often and…

It was almost like they were standing on either side of a door, holding the same knob but not managing to twist. (There was, Julie thought, a lyric in there somewhere.)

Luke lightly reached out for Julie’s cup, and she released it. A concession of sorts. He took a swig and gagged but refrained from commenting. Perhaps if they were on better terms this evening, he might have chimed in with one of his typical “Don’t know how you can drink this crap”s.

Instead, he handed the solo cup back to her and said, “Hey…can we…go somewhere? Talk?”

The knot in Julie’s stomach tightened. Here she was, thinking they might be able to get through the evening without having to do this.

“Luke…,” she said. She felt the lump in her throat rise again. A million thoughts rushed into her head. _We don’t have to. I’d rather not. Please, just—don’t._ There were some truths Julie didn’t think she wasn’t ready to face. Especially not in the middle of her best friend’s birthday party.

But then Luke wasn’t leaning casually against the wall anymore. His body was curved inward. Toward her. And she realized he was stooping to look directly into her eyes. Any sign of cool and collected that he’d been giving off moments ago was gone, and bloodshot hazel panic blinked back at her instead.

“Please,” he said. “Jules, I need to talk to you. Please. I just—I don’t—I can’t—”

The plea wasn’t lost on her. She found herself nodding. Then looking around. “Where, though?”

Luke nodded back, too vigorously, and reached down for her hand without even hesitating. Lacing his fingers with hers outright. That was new, but Julie didn’t have too much time to think about it before she was being dragged along, through the crowd of people and down the hallway into Flynn’s room.

Luckily, no one else had had the same idea. The room was blissfully empty. Flynn’s four-poster with the indigo bedspread had been neatly made up, and posters of Steve Aoki, Diplo and Charlotte de Witte lined the walls. As did Flynn’s ancient corkboard featuring some of their more embarrassing photos over the years. If she weren’t so disoriented, Julie might’ve had the presence of mind to stand in front of the one where she and Flynn, age 10, had stuck out their bright blue tongues at the camera (the result of one too many shave ice at Venice Beach).

But Luke wasn’t looking at the walls or the corkboard. He was concentrating on Julie. And she felt herself looking back, genuinely curious as to what he could possibly say to fix this situation.

“Jules, I _want_ you to come.”

Whatever she thought was going to come out of his mouth, it certainly wasn’t that.

“What?” she asked, her voice cracking. “ _What_?” Confusion and anger melded together—and the feelings that had been churning inside her as she lay awake these past few nights rose up. “What do you mean—you want me to come? You didn’t even tell me about it.”

Luke stepped forward, gesticulating helplessly. “I wanted to. I swear. I didn’t want you to find out from a frigging email on my laptop. I wanted to tell you. I wanted—”

He was breathing heavily, as if he were just getting started, but Julie was already shaking her head. “But I _did_ find out from an email on your laptop— _your_ laptop, which you straight-up told me to use for lyrics. How was I supposed to feel?” She huffed. “Was I just supposed to accept that you had already gone ahead and agreed to a _thirty-five-city tour_ for Sunset Curve using our songs— _our songs, Luke_ , not just yours—without even talking to me? I mean, I know I’m not an actual member of the band or anything, but God forbid—”

“Of course not. We didn’t agree yet, we just—wait.” Luke stopped. Cold. “What do you mean you’re not in the band?” It wasn’t a question, but rather a demand. “ _Of course_ you’re in the band.”

That made angry tears blur in her vision. Three years of waiting to hear those words, and this is how they came tumbling out. As if it were obvious, when it had been anything but. Julie turned her head to the side to look at the violet lava lamp flowing on Flynn’s bedroom desk. She swallowed hard and said what she had been holding back. The whisper of doubt that threaded through her every time she sang or wrote or played with Sunset Curve: “Could’ve fooled me.”

Luke stepped forward then, cornering her against the desk. Julie stared resolutely at the lava lamp. “Jules,” he said. “Julie, we wouldn’t _be_ a band without you.”

And now she was crying. Hot tears spilling down her face without her permission. “Then why?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

And maybe Luke was crying, too. “Because…Juilliard.” His voice was the one cracking now.

There it was. The unspoken scythe hanging over their heads. Julie had been early-accepted just a month prior to The Juilliard School's Vocal Arts program, and everyone had been so thrilled for her. Including Luke.

But Julie hadn’t been. When she got that acceptance email, she wondered why she didn’t feel that giddy excitement that she had anticipated. Not as Flynn squealed and tackled her. Not as the boys presented her with a terribly frosted Congratulations cake. Not as her dad and Carlos and Tía Victoria took her out to dinner and sang her praises.

The truth was, she was enjoying her life the way it was. She was loving being part of the band, even if she hadn’t thought she was _part_ of the band.

So when she saw a very different email come through from Phantom Records while she and Luke were writing together on Sunday night— **SUBJECT LINE: RE: Following up on tour availability** —the pencil she had been holding fell from her hand and rolled across the floor of the studio.

Luke had scooped it up without a thought, a teasing quip already on his lips: “Wow, Jules. Write much?” before seeing the look on her face.

The fight that had ensued had been terrible. Luke refusing to tell her _what_ or _why_ or _how_ , saying _it wasn’t a done thing,_ that he _couldn’t talk about this now_.

Suddenly, the conversations they had never had were front and center—and her worst fears were being confirmed.

Julie, who had been sitting with her legs on Luke’s lap only minutes prior—both of them pretending that he hadn’t been rubbing his thumb across her knee in a way that was giving her goosebumps—had immediately put distance between them. She moved herself across the garage, gripping the edge of the piano and desperately trying to process. Because if her band (or _not her band_ , she thought bitterly) was moving on without her, and she was moving across the country to be part of program she wasn’t even sure about, where did that leave her?

The argument that had culminated in the garage left her demanding that he _leave. Get out. Just go_. (“Jules, just listen—” “ _No_ , Luke.”)

There were probably a few more choice words, too, if she’s being honest. And so he had gone, reluctantly leaving her to choke on her tears as she looked down at the knit material of his abandoned beanie.

The beanie that was still missing from his head, here in Flynn’s room. “God, Jules.” Luke’s voice was hoarse. Quieter than she had ever heard it. He reached down and pulled her hands to his chest, gripping them tightly against his pounding heart. “I wanted to tell you the minute I got the call. I was with Reg and the first thought I had was, ‘I gotta tell Julie.’ I was _still_ trying to figure out how to tell you this week. Do you remember how I was all over the place on the chords we were trying out?

“But then Reg reminded me about Juilliard and your future and how it’s your choice, and Alex totally backed him up. And I just—just because I chose this for myself doesn’t mean you have to. You’re so talented. You’re a freaking wrecking ball. And you have this big chance to do this big thing, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

His look was earnest. The dark shadows under his eyes pronounced. So Julie said the only thing she could: “Yeah.” She licked her lips. Prepared for battle. “Yeah, it is my choice, asshat. So why didn’t you ask me what _I_ want?”

His pleading expression turned stricken, and Luke dropped her hands. Now Julie was the one advancing, away from the desk and back toward the corkboard on the opposite wall. She poked her index finger into Luke’s chest as she stepped forward and he, back. “First off, you never asked me to be in the band. So how was I supposed to know? And second, Lucas,” she said, drawing up the name she knew he hated. The name only Emily used. “What if I don’t _want_ to go to Juilliard? Did you ever think of that?”

Luke opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, but Julie wasn’t done. With another shove of her hands, he stumbled back and she followed. “What if I want to write our music? And perform it for people? And climb onto a crappy tour bus in May and do it all with you? It’s _my_ decision. Not Reggie’s, not Alex’s and definitely not yours.”

Julie pushed on. This was the first time she had said it aloud to anyone. And if she were going to be honest tonight, she was going to go for broke. She was going to turn the knob and wrench open the goddamned door.

“I know what makes me happy,” she said, her heart in her throat. And possibly more tears, though she wasn’t sure how she had any more to spare. “And that’s our music and our people and you, you idiot.” She punctuated the point by thumping her fist against his chest.

Calloused hands were bracing her face then, drawing her in. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Luke’s question left no room for confusion. Clear and direct, like an a Capella voice cutting straight through the noise.

“Yes."

“Thank God.” And then Luke’s lips were on hers, slanting down in a kiss that was firm. Insistent. And hot as hell.

Distantly, Julie heard herself make a noise in the back of her throat, but he only swallowed it and pulled her closer. In one swift move, he had flipped their positions, pushing her back against the corkboard and spreading one large hand into her curls to protect the back of her head. Julie felt his fingers rake against her scalp and shivered. Luke pressed into her harder, pulling back for a millisecond, only to shift his nose across hers and change the angle of the kiss. And she felt like her heart was on fire.

Julie tried to give back just as good as he was giving, but her senses were overwhelmed. When Luke moved his mouth down to her neck to nip at her pulse point, she gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair, suddenly thankful for the lack of beanie. When Luke pulled her up against him so that her legs could wrap around his waist, she arched into him and listened to his delicious groan in response. And when his fingers curled into her hips to move his own against her, Julie thought dimly _that it felt like making music._

She dropped her head back a while later, breathing hard and looking up at the Charlotte de Witte poster above her, and was reminded of where, just exactly, they were. Luke was preoccupied with kissing the down the dip of her neckline (mumbling something that sounded like "dreaming"), but Julie slotted her hands over his ears and pulled his head back up to hers for a lighter brush of their lips.

He felt the shift in energy immediately, lessening the pressure and loosening his grip on her. As their caresses slowed, she moved her (admittedly shaky) legs back to the floor and looked up at him. At this dumbass who had her heart.

“Well,” she said at last, heavy breathing stopping her from stringing too many words together just yet. “That answers…a few questions, at least.” Luke was looking at her like she was one of those answers—and despite the intimacy of what they had just shared, Julie felt her ears burn, fighting the compulsion to look away.

“Jules,” Luke said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a shithead. And for trying to make decisions for you. And for, y’know, not telling you. You were right. And I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Julie replied. And she meant it. “And, um…we’re not done talking about this.” Luke grimaced, as though he had been expecting that, but nodded.

Then he paused, clearing his throat—and, because he was Luke, said, “When you say ‘this’…do you mean ‘this,’” he gestured to the room at large as if it represented their argument, “or…‘this’?” he gestured between the two of them.

Julie set her jaw and looked up at him. “Both.” And just like that, Luke was smiling. Because while they may have a shitstorm coming their way, there was comfort in knowing that they would be facing it together.

“For now, though,” Julie said, readjusting her necklace and smoothing down her hair. “You’re going to get me another beer. And we’re going to enjoy the rest of my best friend’s birthday party.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door, her tone brokering no argument.

“You got it, boss,” Luke replied.

And that was that.


End file.
